


Contrary to Popular Belief: Even Whirl Can't Live off Energon Jellies

by Taarbas



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Domesic AU, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Whirl Being Whirl, its not a lot but its there, kind of? theyre no longer on the LL the journeys ended and the ends left vague, tailgate and whirl should not be left alone for any amount of time let alone weeks, whirl is not rungs patient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taarbas/pseuds/Taarbas
Summary: When Rung and Cyclonus have to leave partners alone for a couple of weeks, the pair assume Whirl and Tailgate will be able to handle themselves.Boy, were they ever wrong.





	

Whirl knew he was in deep shit the second he heard the apartment door unlock a full day early. Rung and Cyclonus had left exactly two weeks prior, promising to return by the 18th of the month. “There’s energon in the fridge, and some snacks in the cabinet still,” Rung had said as he and Cyclonus got ready to leave, “You should have plenty of food for the first week, but you’ll most likely have to go grocery shopping while we’re gone.” Here, Rung had paused, his small servo coming to rest on one of Whirl’s pinchers. To the untrained optic, Rung looked gentle, almost like a worrying mother. But Whirl knew. Rung was never anything but gentle, but his grip was still firm, fingers curling around the sharp metal and squeezing in a way that told Whirl he better listen. “Please buy  _ actual  _ food.” 

Of course he and Tailgate promised to be good, to actually cook and take care of themselves as they tried to shove the pair out the door. Cyclonus kept stopping, telling Tailgate to call him if the minibot needed anything, anything at all, and that if needed Cyclonus could be back in a day at most and- 

Thankfully, Tailgate clapped a hand over the flier’s mouth, assuring his partner he’d be perfectly fine and if worse came to worse he could always call Ratchet or Rewind or any of their other friends from back in their exploring days. It didn’t seem to calm the purple mech’s nerves, but he didn’t press, instead letting himself be herded out the door by their combined efforts. It had been hard for Whirl to keep from laughing. Everyone always thought Rung was the worrier, that he’d be the one on the phone for hours on end to check in and fussing over the barest of things. In reality, that was Cyclonus. It wasn’t that Rung didn’t worry, Whirl knew he did, and a lot, but he also trusted them to be adults. Sometimes Whirl thought that trust was misguided, especially when the second the door was shut Tailgate turned to Whirl, visor bright as a sun, and said, 

“I have an energon cake I’ve been hiding under my berth. Wanna split it?” Of course Whirl had said yes, and the next two weeks had been made up of them getting into any and all trouble they could. Not to mention, living off energon jellies and cakes and other candies, which definitely was  _ not  _ what Rung had told them. The apartment was still a mess, datapads and blankets and food strewn every which way. Whirl wasn’t even certain the energon jelly they had spilled in the kitchen last night was cleaned up.

To his right, Tailgate’s helm lifted, his visor bright in distress. “I thought they weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow!” He hissed, turning over with a groan of pain. Drawing back up into a ball, the minibot shivered. “We are so slagged.” Whirl found himself inclined to agree. He and Tailgate were by no means delicate, both of them built to have hardy systems. Granted, even the strongest tanks couldn’t take eating nothing but rich energon treats for two weeks without some repercussions. Tailgate had been purging on and off all morning, and Whirl couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Being empurata meant he couldn’t purge anymore, he just had to wait it out in agony. 

“Tailgate? Tailgate where are you?” Cyclonus’ booming voice echoed off the walls, his pedes thudding heavily against the tile. Whirl knew Cyclonus didn’t normally walk like that unless he was trying to avoid walking into an unpleasant situation, as it usually gave Tailgate enough time to hurry up and hide whatever it was he was doing that he shouldn’t be. But in this case, there was no hiding anything. Tailgate was too sick to get up, and Whirl hissed in pain as he struggled to his pedes, pinchers scraping up the couch. Cyclonus rounded the corner the second Whirl stood on shaky legs, struts feeling more like jelly than actual metal. His tank roiled, warnings against purging appearing in his vision. He dismissed them, shaking his helm and immediately regretting it as it made his tanks give a sickening lurch. 

“Tailgate!” Cyclonus yelped, actually  _ yelped _ , and was at the minibot’s side in a sparkbeat. Whirl would have found the situation completely goddamn  _ hilarious _ if it wasn’t for the fact that one, he felt like he had went round for round with the DJD and two, Rung had just walked in, face pulled into a pleasantly neutral expression behind his glasses that Whirl knew a little too well. 

“Whirl! Tailgate! What happened?” He asked, stepping forward until he was only a few feet from Whirl. Tailgate groaned, pressing his faceplate into Cyclonus’ palm. 

“Cyclonus,” He whined, little fingers curling around claws as he cuddled up to his partner. “I feel sick.” Cyclonus was still in panic mode, optics wide as his servos roamed over the minibot, looking for wounds of any kind. Coming up empty, Cyclonus gave a sigh of relief before turning back to Tailgate, glaring down at him.

    “What happened?” His voice was stern, but not cruel. Tailgate whimpered, servo squeezing Cyclonus’.

    “I ate a bunch of energon treats instead of food and now I’m sick. Please Cyclonus, I’m sorry!” Cyclonus’ face softened even as he sighed, raking a servo down his face before he hooked his arms under Tailgate’s backstrut, hauling him up with ease. To his credit, the minibot stopped whining, settling for pathetic groans as he was jostled. 

    “Hush you,” Cyclonus growled, but his optics were soft as he delicately handled the minibot, heading out of the living room and down the hall to their berthroom. Whirl stared after them with a twinge of jealousy.  _ He _ wanted to be carried too, primus damn it. Cyclonus probably could have, and if Tailgate wasn’t sick he could have, but Rung? Not a chance. 

    “Whirl? You don’t look so well,” Rung brought Whirl out of his reverie, his optic snapping down to the small orange mech. Rung had stepped closer, his optics focused on Whirl’s not face. Whirl hadn’t even seen him remove his glasses. 

    “‘M fine eyebrows. I’m not nearly as soft as the marshmallow.” It was false bravado and they both knew it. From down the hall, the unmistakable sound of a mech purging could be heard, and Whirl felt a stab of envy and nausea roll through him. His optic contracted to a pinprick, vision narrowing as his helm tightened. He would have given anything for Brainstorm’s time machine at that moment, then he could go back and smack past him upside the helm and (maybe, not likely) stop him from making so many piss poor decisions. 

    “Whirl, you have coolant forming on your frame. And your fans are running at max power. Are you quite sure you’re alright?” In a fit of panic, Whirl searched for an excuse, optic expanding until there was only a black rim around the bright yellow. The corner of Rung’s optic twitched, a surefire sign that he knew, knew Whirl was lying and that he had done something he shouldn’t have. Familiar panic bubbled in Whirl’s spark, his pedes itching to run and his guns aching to shoot. It would have been easy, shoot a window out, make a break for it and dive. Rung couldn’t catch him in the air, and Cyclonus cared more for Tailgate than Whirl. 

    “I already told you eyebrows! I’m  _ fine. _ In fact, I’m more than fine! Just...hungry! Yea, that’s it. I’m starving. Lemme go get something to eat.” Whirl tried to push past him, and despite Rung’s smaller stature, he held his ground. 

    “Really? Well in that case, I brought you something. Here, I know how much you love rust cakes, so I got you one of the discs from that bakery down by Maccadams.” Reaching into his subspace, Rung pulled the cake free, offering it up to Whirl. The thing was huge, even for Whirl’s standards. Was that guilt he felt in his spark? Whirl tried to shake it off, but it remained, persistent in its desire to needle him.  _ Look how nice he’s being. He thought of you, thought to get you a nice treat. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve him- _ “Don’t you want a bite Whirl? Usually you’ll tear these out of my servo and eat them in one go, despite my warnings. I thought you were hungry?” 

    “I am I am!” He snapped, and immediately recoiled, mentally scolding himself. “Just- I want to savor it eyebrows.” A pincer closed around the edge of the cake, pulling a small piece off as his upper chestplate popped open, revealing a modified grinder. It fed into his intake, allowing him to eat solids despite not having a proper intake or denta. He was luckier than most empurata, who either had to inject energon into their lines or only had a proboscis, forever forbidding them from anything but alcohol and plain energon, though if they were lucky, some moron would screw up their energon jelly and make it too runny. Whirl’s tank roiled as he considered the cake, trying to figure out if it would be better to simply shove it in the grinder and hope for the best, or to pick it apart and feed little bits at a time in. 

    “Since when does Whirl savor anything?” Rung teased, and though there was no venom in the words, Whirl could tell Rung was not only onto him, but willing to stick it out until Whirl confessed. A retort popped into Whirl’s processor, something cruel and biting that may have scared the small mech off if Whirl was particularly lucky, but he beat it down, instead stuffing the piece of cake into the grinder and feeling the room pitch as his tanks attempted to reject it but ultimately had to accept. 

    “Whirl? Whirl are you alright?” A tense nod was Rung’s only response, Whirl not trusting his vocalizer to get anything out other than destroyed static. Rung’s disapproval was palatable despite him still not having gave voice to it, keeping it behind a carefully composed, pleasant look. “You look like you’re going to overheat. May I?” 

    His servo came up, and Whirl instinctively flinched away, neck retracting into his chassis enough to get his helm out of Rung’s reach. His servo pulled away, and Whirl gave a static hiss, extending his neck again in the hopes Rung would reach back out and stroke his helm and antenna. His servo hovered in the air like an unspoken question, and it wasn’t until Whirl whined and nosed at his servo with the pointed ends of his helm. Rung didn’t pull away, letting his servo rest gingerly on the side of his helm. His servo was blessedly cool against Whirl’s overheated frame. 

   “Whirl, are you absolutely certain you’re feeling alright?” Whirl felt like he might heave, processor spinning as another wave of nausea beat against his resolve. His optic slowly opened, and he turned his helm away, gaze fixated on a stain on the carpet instead of Rung’s gentle face. 

    “You’ll be angry with me,” He muttered, shrinking into himself as his pincers clicked in irritation. Rung’s other servo came up, he must have set the cake aside, and cupped the other side of his helm, applying just enough pressure to suggest he wanted him to turn to face him. Whirl didn’t fight him, following the overly careful persuasion without complaint. To his surprise, Rung didn’t look angry, just concerned as his thumbs began to rub soothing swipes up and down the sides of his mutilated helm. Whirl didn’t know how he could stand it, but right now, he was too sick to question it. 

    “Whirl, sweetspark, I just want to make sure you’re okay. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Please, I won’t be angry with you.” Whirl hesitated, optic dimming as a shudder ran through his frame. 

    “You know how when you left, you specifically told us  _ not _ to do a certain something?” Whirl waited for the other shoe to drop as the implied confession left his vocalizer, but it didn’t come. Rung continued to pet the sides of his helm with the same gentleness as before. “Well,” he continued, “We did it. And then some.” Rung gave a heavy sigh, the only sign of irritation he had shown all night. 

    “Whirl, you need to tell me these things,” He sighed, pulling his helm down to bunt together and press a small kiss to the top. “You need to rest. Come now, follow me.” Rung’s servos dropped down, fingers curling over sharp, dangerous pincers with as much tenderness as one would reserve for bared sparks. He didn’t pull, but Whirl stepped forward anyway, forcing shaky struts to at least give the illusion of stability while Rung led him down the hall. 

    “Aren’t you mad?” Whirl snapped, beginning to drape himself on Rung as they walked. It really wasn’t a long walk, but Whirl was exhausted. 

    “Mad? No. Whirl, it is very rare for me to become angry with anyone, at least not for incredibly good reason. I’m not going to be angry with you if you tell me what is going on. In fact, please tell me what’s going on.” Whirl grumbled, allowing himself to be led into the room and down onto his berth. “Now get some rest,” Rung leaned over and kissed his helm, “you’ll feel better in the morning.” Whirl wanted to thank him, but his vocalizer failed him. Stuffing his helm under his pillow, he hissed in frustration. 

    “It’s no problem. Have a good night, Whirl.” Rung called, his voice sweet. Whirl was glad he was able to read between the lines. 


End file.
